Mhi Solus Dar'tome
by aragornwen
Summary: Several years later, Rana faces the consequences of her rash decision. And no, you can't take her anywhere without her getting into a fight...


Rana pulled the speeder smoothly to a halt, switched it off, and sat for a moment, massaging her temples. Ten years… A lot could happen in ten years, might have happened, and she'd have no idea… She swore quietly, hating both the situation and herself. She'd rather face a line of charging droids alone than this, but that wasn't currently an option. At least she knew he was alive… He didn't think she was alive, not that she knew, anyway.

Still, she didn't regret leaving. Her boys, her _vod'ike_, had been well worth the time and trouble, and just maybe some of them were still alive thanks to something they learned from her. She smiled quietly, remembering the time she taught Gamma Squad to look up, and then sighed. No use putting it off any longer.

Before she could change her mind, she stepped abruptly out of the speeder, quickly slipping her helmet on. The wind tangled her ragged black kama around her legs as she walked toward the long, low building, and the cold rain beading her visor reminded her all too much of Kamino. Wet gravel crunched under her boots as she tried not to think about what might have happened in ten years, if he'd found someone else, if he'd never forgiven her… She couldn't blame him if he hadn't, but she wanted to believe… It was easier to forgive someone you thought was dead. She had no real idea of how he might react to coming face to face with a ghost from the past, especially considering their parting conditions.

"_I will leave, then!" She spun on her heel and stormed out the door, slamming it right in Jus's surprised and still angry face. Her last memory of him was of his mouth open, ready, she assumed, to retort, but she hadn't stayed to listen. The first place she'd come to was that dingy little cantina, where she'd accepted Fett's offer and turned her back on everything she knew._

Her face twisted bitterly under the T-shaped visor. Fett was dead now, and she might as well be for all anyone she cared about knew. No- that wasn't true. Her boys… _Someone_ had to look out for them. If Jus didn't… But she'd blast that door when she came to it. Right now, she was facing the hardest door she'd ever had to open in her life.

She cursed her indecision. What she must look like, standing out in the rain… She shoved it roughly open, harder than she'd meant to. It slammed back against the wall as she strode into the hot, dim interior. Her entrance, more dramatic than she'd meant for it to be, still attracted no more attention than a few curious glances, which quickly returned to their drinks. It was a rough, backwater place on a rough, backwater planet, and too much interest could be fatal.

She looked around, searching for his familiar orange _beskar'gam_. She saw nothing at first, but a flash of color toward the back of the long room caught her attention. She didn't need to shoulder her way through the crowd. Even in a tough place like this, her distinctive Mandalorian helmet and the modified Verpine shatter gun slung casually over one shoulder commanded respect. She wended her way through the mass of beings, finally reaching the far, dark corner, full of relatively secluded nooks. All she could see of him was the back of his head and one shoulder, but it was enough. Even after ten years he was unmistakable. She was surprised that his back was to the door. He never sat where he couldn't keep an eye on everything…

Any noise made by her armored boots was drowned by the general hubbub. She walked slowly forward toward his table and was debating on just how to attract his attention without getting shot when he swung his head around suddenly. Seizing the chance, she strode toward him, and as he spotted her, his face went completely blank.

Her stomach feeling very odd, she reached the table and stood over it. His expression was still unreadable, although she felt like she should be able to recognize it by now. She slipped off her helmet, tucking it under one arm as her eyes prickled, presumably from the sudden exposure to the smoke-laden air. Still he stared, and she ran a nervous hand through her short, dark hair, graying slightly now, and swallowed hard. She didn't trust her voice at the moment, and it appeared he didn't either. His mouth opened, drawing breath to speak, and she was struck suddenly by how terribly familiar that simple action was. She bit her lip and sank into the seat opposite him, bowing her head and dragging a slightly shaking hand across her eyes.

A firm grip caught her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face. She sniffed and looked up, taking in every detail of him through oddly hazy eyes. The scar above his left brow that she'd given him one day while sparring without helmets, the blue-green eyes, even the shape of his nose. "Rana?" he muttered hoarsely, still staring disbelievingly at her. "Ran'ika?"

She nodded mutely, meeting his gaze with shoulders straight. He shook his head. "I thought you were dead…"

Her lips twisted into a slightly bitter smile. "_Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_." _Not dead, merely marched far away_. The old proverb was ironically appropriate for her situation.

He tightened his grasp on her wrist, clinging to it like a drowning man, but his eyes never left her face. "Where did you go? Why?"

She gave a short laugh. "That army you've been hearing so much about? The one that's gonna save us from the Seps? I helped."

He blinked and frowned. "You… what?"

"I helped train them." At his confused look, she shook her head. "It's a long story. Look-" She paused. The hard part, and she still didn't know what to say, really… "I- didn't really think. And it's been ten years, and I haven't- so if you-" She stopped, taking a deep breath. "If you- found someone else-" Her voice trailed off.

He released her wrist, reaching across the table to clutch her shoulders with both hands. "Ran'ika, if you ever think that anyone could replace you…" He stopped, shaking his head, and she looked down at the battered tabletop again, blinking rapidly. "You all right?" he asked, suddenly all concern.

"Yeah," she answered, her voice rough. "Just- something in my eye." She dragged the back of her hand across her face once more and looked back up at him. "So. Can you- could you ever… forgive me?" She trailed off, the last words barely audible.

He blinked, looking surprised. She had expected that reaction. It was the first time she'd ever really apologized for anything. She waited silently for his answer, and was taken aback when he pulled her to her feet and into a bonecrushing embrace. "Of course, _dinii_," he murmured into her hair.

She relaxed against him, smiling for the first time since she'd decided to find him again, and returned the hug. "Whatever happened to 'not in front of the _aruetiise_'? You have a reputation to consider."

He snorted. "Let 'em look."

She wedged an elbow against his chest. "Let go. You hug like a wampa. I'm surprised my ribs aren't broken." He loosened his grip, and she twisted free. "So why are you here?" she asked, suddenly curious now that the weight of apprehension had been lifted.

He shrugged awkwardly, slumping back into his seat. "Another job. Some small-timer wants some real muscle."

Rana snorted scornfully, still standing over the table. "On this backwater mudpit? Hah. What here could possibly be worth your time or skill?"

"I beg your pardon?" came a high, cold voice from behind her. She whirled to see- nothing, then blinked and looked down. A pale, blonde-haired woman, at least a head shorter than she was, frowned up at her arrogantly, flanked by a pair of scruffy, heavily-armed thugs.

Rana stared at her for a moment, then glanced at Jus. "Let me guess. This is your small-timer?"

The woman stiffened with indignation. "I am Seshevyei Arinnakvyei, and you will treat me with the respect I am due!"

Rana looked back down at her, smirking cheekily. "Oh, I am. That name's a bit of a mouthful. How do you spell that anyway? I'm Rana Talgal. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I generally try not to lie to people I've just met."

The woman brushed past her to slide regally into the seat across the table from Jus. "So, bounty hunter, as we discussed earlier-" she began, ignoring Rana.

Rana raised an eyebrow. "Bounty hunter? Excuse me?"

Jus shook his head, giving her a warning look as the blonde curled her exquisitely sculpted lip. "You would do well to teach your woman some manners. Now, referring to our prev-"

Rana's indignant cry drowned the rest of Arinnakvyei's words. "_His woman_?!" She shook one beskar-clad fist under the blonde's pointed nose. "Listen, Aran-ori'buy'ce, or whatever your name is-"

"Rana…" Jus murmured, pulling at her arm. "Now is not the time."

She sat unwillingly beside him, scowling across the table. "But- she- you heard- I'll-"

He squeezed her wrist under the table. "_Udesii_. The credits are good, and the work won't be too strenuous."

"Credits?" Rana snorted. "Bugger credits. Honor is at stake."

"Oh no," Jus muttered quietly, then nudged her gently. "Ran'ika, don't worry about me. Go wait in the speeder."

"No!" she said indignantly. "If you're going to let this-" she waved an arm at the woman across the table, who was watching the exchange with great interest- "this painted little _aruetii_ sit here and call you names, then I'm _talyc_ well going to sit here and do something about it!"

The blonde's eyes glittered, their green depths the color of pack ice. "Oh, are you? And just what do you propose to do, you domesticated vornskr?"

Jus could sense something in Rana snap, but she had reached across the table and grabbed a handful of fur collar before he could do anything. He settled for covering Arinnakvyei's two thugs with his blaster as they pointed their own at Rana.

"Domesticated?" Rana hissed into the woman's shocked face, inches from hers. "Listen, felinx, I'll show you domesticated." She eased her grip slightly, allowing the woman to sink slightly back toward her seat, then jerked the blonde forward in a punishing headbutt. She noticed, with a slightly sadistic twinge of pleasure, how quickly an expression could change from faint relief to alarm to pain. "Now, you wanna say it again?" she asked, releasing her fistful of the woman's coat.

Arinnakvyei slumped back into her seat, head cradled in her hands. Her hired ruffians glanced uncertainly from her bowed head to the smirking Rana to Jus's blaster. Rana laughed scornfully. "That's what I thought." She stood, shouldering her way past the two goons to head for the door.

Jus frowned. "Rana?"

"I'm going to wait in the speeder, _cyar'ika_."

"Wretched _mercenary_!" the woman hissed venomously, raising her head to display a red splotch on her forehead, livid against the pallor of her skin.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Rana tossed back over her shoulder, replacing her bucket and striding outside.

"I want her helmet on my desk," the woman spat at her confused minions, who both swiveled to follow the gold-and-black armored figure.

"No, I don't think you do, actually," Jus said lazily. The underlings turned to see Arinnakvyei's crossed eyes focused on the barrel of his BlasTech A280, which was currently a few centimeters from the bridge of her nose. She uttered a strangled squawk, and Jus glanced amusedly at the bewildered henchmen. "I think that means never mind about the helmet."


End file.
